There are some films that linger in the cultural imagination long after their release — haunting, inspiring, unsettling. Then there are films like Meridian, which linger for other reasons: confusion, regret, and the vague discomfort of wondering what, exactly, anyone was thinking. Directed by Charles Band and starring the captivating Sherilyn Fenn, Meridian is a film with gothic ambitions but the execution of a community theater softcore experiment gone terribly, terribly wrong.
Originally released under the Full Moon Features label — a company known more for killer puppets and straight-to-VHS mayhem than romantic horror — Meridian bills itself as a dark fantasy in the tradition of Beauty and the Beast. Instead, it lands somewhere between a bodice-ripper and a half-asleep fever dream, filled with whispered dialogue, fog machines on overdrive, and a plot so half-baked you could leave it in the sun and get salmonella.
With the luminous Sherilyn Fenn at its center, one might expect something sensuous, emotional, maybe even moving. What we get instead is a muddled, morally dubious, and visually inert mess that not even Fenn’s natural magnetism can salvage. If Meridian is a fairy tale, it’s one written by someone who skimmed the CliffsNotes while watching a softcore Cinemax flick on mute.
The Setup: Curse, Castle, Confusion
The story follows Catherine (Sherilyn Fenn), an American art restoration student who inherits her family’s Italian castle after the death of her father. Accompanied by her best friend Gina (Charlie Spradling), Catherine returns to the sprawling, decaying estate nestled somewhere in a permanently foggy countryside. Before you can say “budget Hammer horror,” a traveling troupe of carnies arrives, led by the twin brothers Lawrence and Oliver (both played by Alex Daniels, in what may be one of the most confusing and thankless dual roles in direct-to-video history).
Catherine invites the performers to dinner, because why not? They’re mysterious, shirtless, and wear eyeliner. What follows is one of the film’s most problematic and ill-conceived sequences: Gina is drugged and sexually assaulted, while Catherine is seduced by Lawrence (or is it Oliver?), and the entire event is brushed off with a “what just happened?” level of narrative disinterest. The film proceeds from there as if it’s setting up a tragic romance between Catherine and a cursed beast, but the foundation has already rotted through.
It turns out that Lawrence and Oliver are cursed — one is a beast by night, the other… isn’t. Or maybe they’re both cursed? The film never makes it clear. There’s a tale of family sin, an ancient curse that can only be broken by love, and a lot of fog, cryptic monologues, and soft-focus candles. What could have been a brooding, adult fairy tale devolves into a confused slog filled with lethargic pacing and deeply uncomfortable sexual politics.
Sherilyn Fenn: Drenched in Beauty, Drenched in Fog
Let’s make one thing clear: Sherilyn Fenn does not phone this in. She never phones it in. Fenn brings a level of commitment, emotional nuance, and sensual energy to even the worst material — and Meridian may be the worst material she’s ever had to work with. Watching her act circles around everyone else in the film is both impressive and depressing, like watching a Shakespearean actor perform next to sock puppets.
Fenn is luminous. Even when the script fails her, even when the dialogue is nonsense, even when the film’s morality is so murky it borders on repellent, she brings vulnerability and gravity to the role of Catherine. Her character deserves a better film, and so does she. We see hints of the depth she would later bring to Twin Peaks’ Audrey Horne — that mixture of curiosity, woundedness, and quiet fire — but Meridian gives her nothing to do but wander halls, light candles, and react to things the movie can’t be bothered to explain.
Her relationship with the cursed brothers — one of whom may or may not have raped her — is played like a tragic romance, which is where the film truly loses any grip on decency or coherence. The camera lingers lovingly on Fenn’s body, but doesn’t give her any agency. We’re asked to believe she’s falling in love with a creature she barely knows, in a castle that barely feels lived in, for reasons that barely make narrative or emotional sense. It’s exploitation dressed up in gothic lingerie.
The Beast(s): Dual Roles, Zero Personality
Playing the dual roles of Lawrence and Oliver, Alex Daniels has the unenviable task of making the audience care about either of them. He fails — not entirely by his own fault, but by virtue of the script giving him nothing to work with. The brothers are indistinguishable, save for some vague costume cues and personality tics that feel like leftovers from a community theater audition. One is brooding and soft-spoken; the other is… also brooding and soft-spoken, just with more eyeliner.
Their curse — the supposed dramatic centerpiece of the story — is never clearly explained. We’re told it stems from an ancient family sin, but the film treats the backstory like an annoying chore rather than the crux of its mythology. The transformation effects are laughable at best, consisting mostly of shadows, crossfades, and beastly grunting. You never feel like you’re watching a supernatural creature. You feel like you’re watching a guy in a rubber mask trying not to sweat under studio lights.
The emotional arc of the brothers is nonexistent. There’s no real guilt, no longing, no complexity. Just vague declarations of doom, and a series of scenes in which Catherine is told she has to love one of them in order to break the curse. Why she would — especially after what has transpired — is the real horror mystery of the film.
Gothic Cheese Without the Charm
Director Charles Band, the mastermind behind Full Moon Features, is no stranger to low-budget horror. He’s made a name for himself with campy B-movie franchises like Puppet Master, Subspecies, and Trancers. At his best, Band is a grindhouse showman — someone who knows exactly how far to push trashy genre thrills while keeping the audience entertained. But in Meridian, he seems utterly lost.
There’s no joy here. No camp energy. No narrative propulsion. Just a soggy tone piece that takes itself far too seriously, despite its ludicrous premise. The pacing is glacial, the editing aimless, and the tone never shifts out of monotone foggy dread. The castle setting is underutilized, the few practical effects are uninspired, and the costuming makes it look like everyone raided a Halloween clearance bin.
And then there’s the score — an overwrought, synth-heavy soap opera of moans and whispers, as if someone left a Casio keyboard on “romantic despair” mode for 90 minutes. Instead of building tension or adding mood, the music becomes a constant distraction, like an awkward third party on a doomed date.
Uncomfortable Themes, Mishandled with a Shrug
It’s impossible to talk about Meridian without addressing its deeply problematic handling of sexual assault. The film includes a scene where one of the brothers drugs and rapes Gina, and another in which Catherine appears to be assaulted as well — only for the narrative to suggest she may have enjoyed it, or even fallen in love with her assailant. These scenes are shot in soft focus, with swelling music and sensual framing, as though the filmmakers are trying to repackage trauma as romance.
It’s not just distasteful. It’s offensive. And it’s made worse by the film’s refusal to deal with the consequences. Gina is never given a meaningful reaction to her assault. Catherine never expresses any horror or confusion over what happened to her. Everything is swept under the rug in service of the film’s limp “tragic love story,” which assumes the audience is willing to forgive or forget actions that should have been central to the characters’ emotional journeys.
It’s a grotesque mishandling of sensitive material, and it dates the film in the worst possible way. Even in the world of ’90s genre films — many of which were notoriously insensitive — Meridian stands out for its lack of narrative responsibility.
The Final Act: A Limp Climax and No Resolution
By the time Meridian limps to its climax — a bloodless confrontation between Catherine and the beast/brothers/curse/whatever — it’s hard to care. The stakes are murky. The emotions have no weight. The resolution, such as it is, comes in a whisper and leaves you wondering what the point of any of it was. The curse is broken (maybe?), but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Catherine returns to her life (possibly?), but we don’t see how she’s changed.
There’s no catharsis, no transformation, no thematic payoff. Just an ending that feels like the crew ran out of tape and decided, “Eh, close enough.”
Final Verdict: D+
Meridian is not a film. It’s a fog machine that wandered into a softcore fantasy script and suffocated everything in sight. It wastes a talented actress, fumbles a potentially interesting gothic premise, and leans into problematic tropes without even the decency to be entertaining about it.
The only saving grace is Sherilyn Fenn, whose grace, presence, and commitment shine through even in the murkiest of scenes. She elevates the material by sheer force of charisma — but even she can’t rescue a film this misguided.
If you’re a Fenn completist, perhaps Meridian is worth one watch. But go in with low expectations, and maybe keep a remote handy to skip through the fog. There are better beasts out there. And better movies. This one, sadly, deserves to be left in the vault where it was found.
